When I'm Cleaning Windows
by Sage Greater Than Heaven
Summary: When tragedy strikes Zim is left alone, homeless, and shipless. With nowhere to go and no one else to turn to, Zim must resign himself to the mercy of his new lord and master, Tak.
1. The Time the Base Exploded

**Chapter I**  
**The Time the Base Exploded and Things Got Bad****

* * *

**

There were plenty of ways Zim could have reacted to the sight held before his very eyes, and in this particular case he decided, with gusto, to pull viciously against his antennae; an act most Irkens only use when reaching their peak of absolute rage. The intolerable pain now shooting through his entire body was nothing compared to the mental anguish he was now suffering.

His base—his most cherished center of relaxation from the natural horrors that covered the disgusting blue-green planet he currently resided on—was, literally, in ruins. Nothing but bits of metallic debris, concrete, and a lovely set of holes located on both of buildings to the side of where his base _used _to be greeted him. Nothing was salvageable, and anything that could have been used to return the base to what it once was was either already destroyed or in a very big hurry to melt away.

Nothing was left. Nothing could be saved. Not even his ship had—

Zim gasped, his hands hovering around his now aching antennae. His ship, his pride and joy, his only true love—dead. His custom built Voot Runner, the one with the adorned furnishing, the sturdy engine that never quit—even when it didn't have fuel to run off of—and the most trustworthy cup holder the young Irken had ever had the chance to own.

Gone. All Gone.

The damn thing was practically spill proof! It was irreplaceable!

Zim nearly cried.

Instead he turned, quietly, towards what he had thought was his most trustworthy companion; towards the one obviously responsible for this horrid tragedy that was his life. Gir stood, disguise pulled from his face and slightly singed from the great explosion, open mouthed, staring at the destruction before him. He didn't even _try_ to pretend like he was sorry.

"Gir," Zim commanded simply.

Gir turned to his master brightly. He didn't really understand what was happening, as he often never did, but he liked where things were going. Or at least he did until his master quickly, cleanly, and rather violently ripped his head from his shoulders. The glow from his eyes strayed for a bit before turning to a dead grey.

Zim sighed, already feeling the high from the adrenaline and extreme rage dissipating into a horrid thing the people of Earth called guilt. He felt disgusted that he even had a conscience. He knew later he would reattach the SIR unit's head to its body, and then, after bitching a fit at the tiny robot, things would return to normality. For now, tough, he needed to think, without any interruption, about what his next move

Zim thought and thought.

* * *

Zim seethed and seethed.

After hours and hours a pacing around the grounds where his home once was, the best idea he could come up with was to throw rocks at the neighbor-humans and then tell them to fuck off because he wasn't in the mood to deal with them. They would respond that they were likewise not in the mood to deal with him, and would indeed fuck off, but on _their_ terms.

He couldn't call for help from Irk because he lacked the proper equipment to do it, but mostly because he didn't want to suffer the embarrassment of explaining why his entire base blew up, and with that went any intentions of receiving help from Dib. _That _was something he would never resort to (again).

There was absolutely nothing he could do, and no one he could turn to.

Lifting a fist-sized rock, Zim threw the horrible bit of earth into the sky with a mighty roar. It shot up, higher and higher, and then descended, falling and falling. A loud yelp echoed throughout the cul-de-sac, and everyone in it hoped that was the end of it because it was very late and they wanted to get some damn sleep, for God's sake.

Getting back up, Zim wobbled a bit and wearily touched his head. The pain was intense, and it was a possibility he could receive a nasty bruise, but that wasn't what Zim was focused on. No, instead he was focused on something that seemed somehow important. It involved a rock, not the one that had just brutally attacked him, but another rock, just as brutal. Sliding his hand down, Zim hissed as he came upon another sore spot. The rock from before… there had been a note attached to that rock! A note he had never bothered to read!

Scrounging his pockets for the note (he wasn't just going to leave it with the rock—it was evidence!), Zim came upon a very crumbled, very mistreated slip of paper. Zim eyes widened as he read it. The note said this:

_Dear Zim,_

_I have returned for revenge! You shall regret the day you ever crossed my path, you little wretch! __**I**__ should have been an Invader, __**NOT**__ you, and __**I**__ will set out to correct this horrible mistake and take what is rightfully __**MINE!**_

_Love, Tak._

Zim had never been so happy to have someone that wanted to kill him on the same planet as him.

* * *

Tak's day, for the better part, had been moving along swell. Her new and improved base (a cleverly disguised donut shop that was fifty-seven stories tall) was almost complete, and she now had a legitimate excuse to constantly have donuts around her.

(Tallest Purple would have snorted at that. "She needs an excuse to have donuts? What is she, defective?" He would then order a room to be filled with donuts, and then swim in it. The climax was said to be amazing and disgusting at the same time.)

And then Zim showed up and ruined all of it by reminding her of everything she hated. Quickly catching herself, Tak responded appropriately.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing at my base?!" She squawked, her voice heavy with her oddly placed accent.

"Eyhh ame oh mahh uh eauhh!" he responded.

"What?" Tak asked intelligently.

"Eyhh ame oh— Eyhh annt ahhk wihh ore uhhn ihn uhy outhh!" Zim cried while pointing an accusing finger at the barrel of the gun currently lodged in his mouth.

"Oh," Tak remarked, moving the gun out from the Irken's mouth (She would have to clean it later. _Thoroughly._) and moving it to his forehead. She pressed it roughly to show she meant business, but it only managed to cause spit to smear across Zim's head, sending an entirely different message. Tak was unperturbed. "Now," she started again, "what possibly reason could you have for coming to my base?"

Zim ignored the gross feeling of the liquid being smeared across his forehead. "I…" he started, then stopped to regain his composure because he was really going to need it. "I came to make a deal."

She could have shot him and been done with it, or she could have listened to his ridiculous proposal and _then _shoot him and be done with it. Tak gave a mental shrug; she was a gambler. Putting a little more force into her grip, she gave Zim a very dangerous look.

"Go on."

* * *

By the time Zim had stopped talking they had both retired to one of Tak's many, _many _conference tables. (Zim didn't bother to ask about it, and in fact stayed as far away from the actual question as possible. Things needed to get done and asking about a person's odd preference to furniture was not one of them.) The hands that previously held Tak's head and gun were now positioned, palm-to-palm, in front of her face, just below her eyes. Behind them was the biggest shit-eating grin Zim had ever laid eyes on.

The hands, still palm-to-palm, bent forward. "Wow," was about all she could say, so she said it again. "Wow."

Zim looked away, the shame of everything finally getting to him. He stopped this mopping, however, as a loud, odd sound sprouted from Tak's mouth. He had heard of this before. It wasn't a cackle from what he'd read, but more of a mock cackle; a shrillish sort of squawk that protruded when someone found something to be funny but just didn't want to give the effort to actually laugh. Zim didn't get what was so funny.

"Oh, wow," Tak said airily, leaning back into her oh-so comfortable seat (special ordered from Vort, the home of the most comfortable couches). "That was funny," she said, "really funny. You're humorous, I'll give you that—and nothing else!" Tak snapped, rising slightly from her oh-so comfortable seat (special ordered from Vort, a planet now enslaved by the Irken Empire). She glared a very harsh glare at Zim, who at the time felt very small.

"Is it true, though?" She just had to ask.

Zim glared back at her. "What does it look like?"

Tak looked and looked. Yes, Zim's uniform and wig (she detested that horrible blot of hair) were both singed or ripped; and yes, his SIR, now located on top of the conference table for all to see, clearly had its head dislodged from the rest of its body, so maybe his story _was _actually true, but who was stupid enough to blow up their own base?

Tak remembered who she was talking to and her shit-eating grin came back full force, along with a whole new bout of laughter.

Zim still couldn't see what was so funny.

* * *

"Sign here."

He signed.

"And here."

He signed there.

"And here, once more."

He signed over there again.

"And this one, you made it horrible. Do it again."

He growled and signed way back over there.

"What was that? Where you even trying? Do it again."

He seethed through his teeth and signed, oh Irk did he sign.

"Hmm…" Tak thought the signature over, then looked down to Zim with a grin of extreme satisfaction. "I think this will do for now." Nodding to herself, she gathered the documents that practically sold Zim's soul to her and stalked off, handing the forms to one of the robotic drones that passed by, who quickly took off in many confusing directions.

"That's it?" Zim asked skeptically.

"Hmm?" Tak said in a manner that sounded far too pleased. "Oh, no," she said as she practically bounced back over to him, "no, no, no, no, no. You see, this," she said as she reached for GIR's dismantled head with her hand, and then for the rest of him with the other, "and this are going to be _very _far apart from each other for a _very _long time." Nodding to herself again, she handed both parts of the SIR unit to another drone, who, like the first one, took off in many confusing directions, only with more pizzazz.

Zim silently fumed. "Anything else?" he growled out.

"Yes," the female Irken responded quite happily. "You see, if you had actually _read _the contract you would have known about all of this, but," she said with a mock sigh, "you're you. Though," Tak perked up, causing dread to swell within Zim, "that doesn't really matter. What does matter, however, is this!" she practically sang as she brought forth a mop and what could most definitely be a bucket.

Zim wanted to kill himself. "Oh no." Depression, depression.

"Oh yes," Tak chirped, pushing both the mop and bucket into his hands, "Janitor."

Tak realized, after some thought, that her day really had gone swell. And that she loved irony.

* * *

AN: Men usually take their vehicles seriously. Don't be surprised if they refer to their car (or other mode of transportation) as their girlfriend. We just love our shit.

This could have been a Zim/VootShip romance, but that's tragedy for you. Now you'll all have to take the blatantly obvious Zim/Tak romance and suck it up.

Minimoose was never there. The moose is a lie.


	2. How Things Were Bad, But Then Got Worse

**Chapter II  
How Things Were Bad, But Then Got Even Worse**

* * *

If you were to ask Zim what he thought of Tak's base, he would spend the first ten seconds biting his lower lip as his body went in mad convulsions, and would then calmly reply: "She has too many _fucking _tables." Those listening would bristle at the use of such a word, but would eventually get over it once they realized that she did indeed have a lot of tables.

She had forty-seven.

He knew because he counted.

He counted because he cleaned each and every single one every day.

He cleaned all of them seven times each every time.

He cleaned them seven times each because Tak would, once he had finished cleaning one, throw garbage on it and tell him he had to clean it all over again until she was able to eat off it, which she assured him she had planned on doing.

He never once saw her eat off any of the tables.

"You missed a spot," a cheery voice piped behind him.

Zim, turning his head behind him, gave what he believed to be the nastiest glare in the tyrants direction.

Tak, teetering slightly back and forth on the unnecessary hover platform she _always _rode on, merely responded with a cheeky grin and a slight shooing motion with one of her hands.

Zim growled and wiped at the spot she had so cleverly pointed out.

The deal—no, _sentence_—was not turning out the way he had planned it to. It was meant to be quick and simple: Zim would get into Tak's base, steal her equipment, sabotage her base, then leave, laughing like a madman the whole way back to the ruins that was his base. Upon reflection, Zim concluded that this was a very bad and stupid plan, and was entirely GIR's fault. Or Dib's. Whatever.

_ZIIIIIIIIPPPP _the Shock-Collar 3000 buzzed as it shot deadly bolts of electricity all over Zim's body, reminding him just why everything about the situation was terrible.

(The Shock-Collar 3000 was a product developed by the horrible corporation HorridCo, made by a horrible team of horrible scientist with horribly sadistic tendencies and horrible family values. Everyday day they would wake up in a tragic mood, have terrible fights with their wives/husbands/whatevers and go to work creating ghastly products in vain attempts to make every feel as awful as they did. They were the best at what they did.

The Shock-Collar 3000 itself felt that it had been unfairly pre-judged at every turn, but didn't do much to change that. The Shock-Collar 3000 functioned much like its counterpart, the Shock-Collar 1500 did in that it would send a powerful pulse (predetermined by the buyer, and sentenced upon the victim) up and down the body, activating as many nerves as it damned well pleased, and immediately immobilizing the target violently in a not-boring-at-all manner.

Unlike its predecessor, however, the Shock-Collar 3000 was equipped with a tiny pin near the back which, as painfully and uncomfortably as it could, would drive itself into the neck of its victim. Upon insertion a group of particularly malicious sensory-nanites would invade and look for anything that seemed out of the ordinary (to that specific species). Upon location of anything strange or unhealthy, the nanites would proceed to look at it, talk about it, then rudely laugh about it and cause the victim to feel an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. If nothing could be found, or if it just felt like it, the nanites would move on to the personality and ripe and tear at it like gossiping schoolgirls.)

Zim, shortly after recovering from the lively jolt sent all throughout his body, was uncomfortably reminded of how short he was compared to everyone else. Also, oddly enough, something inside him was telling him that he was a narcissist and a big selfish jerk. Turning sharply towards his captor, he opened his mouth in preparation to send her some mean words when he noticed the controller in her hands she was waving around merely.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Tak said with a wave of her finger. "You wouldn't want to say anything bad now, would you? Unless you liked being shocked, that is. Do you liked being shocked, Zim? Because I can easily give you a _good _shock if you like it. I think you'd like it."

"No!" Zim said much more urgently then he wanted to. "No, no. Zim will return to work." He gulped and hoped she didn't notice it.

"_Goooooooood! _I do like my tables very clean, and from what I can see…" she dragged on as she twirled a dangerous finger, and Zim really hoped she wasn't about to do what he thought she was about to do, "that table is very dirty." The soft, stinky, gooey, nasty feeling that hit his back and crawled into his boots confirmed that she had done exactly what he didn't want her to do.

Refusing to look weak, Zim stood stock-still, the words '_filth, filth, filth!_' screaming through his mind.

"Now, I have an important call to make, so once you finish cleaning this mess you can go clean the other one on level ninety-eight." Said Tak as she began to float away on her nifty hover platform, but then remembered something important. "And use the stairs!"

Zim was on the eighth level. The stairs zigged-zagged all across the very large room they were placed in, and went upwards at a dreadfully slow angle. The stairs weren't like that on purpose, but were actually a complete coincidence that made Zim's life worse and Tak's much more satisfying.

* * *

The situation aboard the Massive was like any other time, in which as long as Tallest Red and Purple had snacks to chew on then everything was OK for everyone else.

Most of the time.

Some of the time.

Actually, snacks were a bad way to measure how safe everyone was from being ordered to be launched into space, but it was all they had to go off of.

At this moment they had plenty of snacks.

"My Tallest," a communications officer said with full confidence as he could see they were knee-deep in chilly-cheese nachos and decorative donuts, "someone is hailing us."

"Hmmmmm?" Red hmm'd. "Where from?"

"From—" And then the officer remembered that the origin of the planet the message was being sent from was never a good thing to tell to the Tallest. The officer coughed uncomfortably. "F-from… uh… from Earth?"

"Earth?" Red repeated in annoyance. "You interrupt my snack time—"

"_Our _snack time," Purple interjected snidely with a mouth full of donuts. "This involves both of us."

Red turned to him, made a face, then turned back to the officer. "Yea, _our _snack time, for a call from Earth of all places? Do you know who's on that planet? Do you have any idea of the _idiocy _that resides there?"

"Y-yes," the officer got out.

"Then why would you interrupt my snack time—"

"Our snack time."

"_Our _snack time for something like this?"

The officer was quick to remember an important fact. "W-well, you see, my Tallest, it's not from Zim! It's from… umm…"

"Yesss?" Red asked as he leaned forward, looking down at the small Irken (an action he enjoyed and cherished whenever possible).

The officer chuckled nervously and rubbed his goggles. "I-I, uh, don't really remember her name, my Tallest. I suppose it slipped my mind." He chuckled again, but no one found it funny.

"Alright," The red-eyed Tallest as he leaned back into his seat grumpily, waving a hand lazily to some of the subordinates. "Clean this mess up. And launch _this _idiot into space."

The pathetic cries and pleas the officer made were almost enough to sate the Tallest's annoyance. The slurpee was what really did the job.

Red sat back in his chair after suckling rather roughly on the ice-flavored drink for a good bit, and decided to let it stew in bewilderment that it was even in his presence. "Unbelievable," he said as the last of the crumbs were swept away. " 'I forgot.' The so-called help I have to deal with these days."

"We."

Red blinked and turned to his long-time partner, who had just then wiped away the slob of nacho cheese that had manage to cling to his jaw with a rag he carelessly threw into the face of a servant. "What?"

"We," said Purple as he practically threw himself at his chair. "The help _we _have to deal with these days. There are two of us. You know, I'm really starting to get the feeling you don't appreciate me."

"Oh, Purple," The other Tallest said, clearly annoyed.

"Don't you _Oh, Purple _me! This has been going on for ages! Ever since that trip to the Farful sector you've been—"

"We agreed not to talk about that, _Purp._" Tallest Red hissed.

"Well I think we should talk about it, _Red._" The other Tallest hissed right back. "You've been cutting me out of everything recently; we hardly get to talk anymore! You've been distant, and I don't like it."

Red was hard pressed not to jump out of his seat in anger. "And you've been needy as hell, but you don't see me complaining about that, do you?"

"But you are complaining about it!"

"Only because!—Look, we'll talk about this after, okay? The little idiot I—"

"We."

"_We _launched into space is about to pass, and I want to see him explode."

"_Fine._ But this isn't over."

Both Tallest harrumphed and watched as the screaming officer passed by the window.

* * *

"_Noooooooooooooooooooooo—"_

There was a nasty splatter sound, but through it all Tak was not surprised.

It was common knowledge that the Massive was equipped with some of the greatest physics-defying woofers. If there was an explosion from a nearby ship or just some helpless fool who was thrown into space, everyone aboard the Massive would be able to hear it in crystal-clear Androma sound.

(The Androma were a species revered for their profoundly peaceful nature and their ability to make bad-ass sound systems- but only after the Great Concert, were upon all of the Androma and a number of species on neighboring planets were instantly killed as the sounds of some terribly off-key bongos flooded through a ridiculously enormous set of speakers, causing everyone's heads to explode. After some time, the Irken Empire happened upon the ruined society and took their kick-ass sound systems for themselves.

If asked about anything that didn't have to do with their sound systems, the reply would usually be that it didn't matter since "they were just a bunch of hippies.")

"My Tallest?" Tak asked carefully after she could no longer see their heads slowly following the remains of a no-doubt foolish Irken.

"Ah!" Said Tallest Red. "Yes, that's us."

"Oh, so now it's us." Muttered Purple under his breath.

Red ignored him. "Why have you called your mighty Tallest, umm…" He peered at the screen, but no name came to mind. "You?"

"I'd like to report something of great importance. The pathetic Irken known as Zim—"

Both Tallest shot there arms up defensively, hissing loudly. After a few seconds, they lowered their hands and prepared themselves to hear the rest of what she had to say. "Go on," they encouraged her.

"Umm, right," said Tak. "He is no longer a problem."

Both Tallest were quite shocked, to say the least.

"_No longer a problem_?" Purple repeated, pausing to make sure he wasn't going insane. "How… you killed him? How did you accomplish such a task?" It was firmly set in both of the Tallest minds that Zim was a terrible entity which could never die, and would always terrorize Irk and all of its people.

Tak could see that this was getting a bit out of hand. "Well, I didn't actually—"

"No!" Shouted Tallest Red as he jumped out of his chair in alarm. "Don't tell me—_us! _Look, whatever you did, that's great. You're a real big hero and you killed Zim, that's all we need to know."

"But—"

"No!"

"But I—"

"No! Nonononono! No."

"Ok, alright, he's _dead_."

"Good." Red returned to his seat, quite pleased. "When you return to Irk we'll give you a medal or something for your duty to the empire, umm…" He tried again, failed, then noticed the tube jutting from her head (which was very obvious and questionable, but he wasn't one to pry). "Tak!" He really should have noticed with her accent, which in itself he found odd. He was about to question why she had one, but felt it was best to leave it be and cut the conversation short so he could hoot and holler about Zim being dead.

"Yea, we'll have a big celebration too! Nachos and cheese everywhere!" Said Purple excitedly.

"Well, I still have to conquer the planet…" she dragged on, hoping they would catch her meaning. _"Invader, Invader, Invader, Invader!" _She screamed in her head.

"Right, you do that and we'll…" Red started, then remembered something from the last time they encountered Tak. "We'll make you an Invader- a _super_ Invader, too! How does that sound?" There was no such thing as a Super Invader, but Red was sure that something that sounded that cool was influential enough to get her moving; there was a large party to be planned, snacks to be acquired, and people with the name of Purple to be ignored.

Tak marveled at the thought of having such a neat sounding title. "That sounds good, my Tallest." Tak replied curtly. _"YES, YES, YES, OH IRK YES!" _She puffed out her chest, saluting her two leaders like she never had before. "Future Super Invader Tak, signing off."

* * *

Zim had planned on going to the ninety-eighth floor, he really did. He was half way there, in fact, when he suddenly realized that the base Tak had built was actually disguised as a donut factory, and had many donuts all around the inside in neat glass containers. Upon noticing this Zim also noticed that he was very hungry, and that the donuts looked very delicious.

Pressing his face against the glass, he allowed himself to look on in desperation as the donuts taunted him with their deliciousness. "Eat us, Zim," they mewed, the frosting glistening in the light. Not having anything against such a wonderful idea, Zim slide the compartment open and tentatively reached inside.

Two seconds later he was writhing on the ground as the unbelievable amount of pain brought out by the Shock Collar slowly receded. He heard a chuckle.

"Tisk tisk, Zim. You know that you're not allowed to eat any donuts. Oh wait," Tak said with her hand to her mouth, a look of realization on her face, "you don't! In fact, you don't know a lot of things, since you never bothered to read the contract! Oh well, you'll figure everything out eventually, I'm sure."

Picking himself up off the ground, Zim tried desperately to control himself from bursting out in blinding rage. It was one thing to embarrass him the way she had been, but to deny him the wonderful concoction known as the donut and then mock him for it? That was simply unforgivable.

Tak leaned forward on her hover-pad, a dastardly grin on her face. "You should get moving, those tables don't bloody well clean themselves!"

Grumbling nasty things to himself, Zim ignored the odd sense of inferiority he felt over his sqeedly spooch.

"Remember, I want to be able to eat off it!" She called behind him, and if she really tried would be able to hear the sound of him destroying his own teeth. Watching the short Irken walk away, the smile on Tak's face dropped. Three months; Zim would be under her thumb for three months, and so she had three months to conquer Earth before it got too complicated. Of course at some point she would have to kill Zim, she realized, but she'd deal with that problem when it came up (plus, she wanted to make him as miserable as possible before she did the deed). Three months was a very long time; she could conquer this pathetic rock in just two weeks if she really tried.

The only problem, however, was Dib, but she was sure she could handle the child.

How much trouble could one monkey cause, anyway?

* * *

The dirt that was once Zim's base remained unmoving, and for all its worth would continue to be unmoving for all eternity if it had its way. It, in its own opinion, had had a truly tiring event with everything above it exploding without reason, and was now ready to continue its completely meaningful existence by doing absolutely nothing. Sadly, the dirt would not have its way, and was unceremoniously shuffled and pushed aside by some very rude hand popping out of it. The hand wiggled to and fro disgustingly. '_What is that_,' the dirt would think, '_and why is it coming out of me?'_ Obviously it would have to reprimand the culprit with harsh and swift action. However, just as the disturbed dirt was about to take action, it was taken by surprise as yet _another _pale hand popped out from its depths- truly the situation was dire. Steadying itself, the dirt readied to retaliate with all its might, when yet something even more terrible happened. A head, one quite large in its opinion, burst forth from the ground, gasping in some air. The dirt withdrew in disgust at this; _that _had been inside of it? What on Earth had been going on when it wasn't looking?

Before the dirt could even metaphorically blink in surprise, the situation had seemed to resolve itself. The person, whoever it was, had managed to drag himself free of the dirt's hold, and was now busy being weird on top of it. If the dirt could shrug it would have; the problem—the boy—was now officially out of the dirt's jurisdiction, which meant that the dirt had to do nothing, to which it happily applied itself to not-doing.

(Later studies would find that, while naturally pompous, all dirt was incredibly lazy.)

Dib gasped loudly, eyes wide with terror searching this way and that. Seeing no immediate danger, the boy rested himself on top the dirt in an attempt to catch his bearings before they went and did something stupid. The dirt would have protested, but it was far too busy concentrating on not moving to deal with him. After a minute, when nothing seemed to want to kill him and no green people were around to threaten him, Dib began to asses the situation.

What exactly had happened? As far as he could remember, the day had been going quite normally. He woke up, went to school, hated school, then went out to spy on Zim in his base—Wait, Where was the base?

He shot up, turning this way and that in hopes of seeing the horribly disguised base, but, instead, was met only with jagged metal pieces and confusion. There was nothing left to give a clear picture as to what exactly happen, besides the rubble, two large holes on either side of the neighboring buildings as a result of the _completely noticeable _cords that had come from the Irken's base, and the smell of burnt _everything_. And of course there was the small bit of Zim's uniform frolicking in the wind that he just barely noticed—WAIT!

A thought struck him and then, just as quickly, booked out of there before anyone could get a good look at it. What had he been thinking? He knew, with utmost certainty, that whatever the thought was it had been very important. Why couldn't he remember it? Why was it so damn hard to think?

Enraged, Dib pulled at his hair viciously and found out two marvelous things at almost the same time. The first being, obviously, that pulling the hair from your head hurt a lot, and the second being that his head was bleeding quite badly. All at once the injuries he had not bothered to look for rudely made themselves at home everywhere on his body. The kinks in his bones screamed like a mad shoe seller, and his muscles burned like butter stupid enough to end up on the sun.

Moaning and groaning, Dib allowed his body to deflate against the ground pathetically. What had he been trying to do just a moment ago? Something about…

Dib looked at his hands.

Blood? Something to do with blood? No, that wasn't it.

He looked around himself. An explosion? Was that it? No, no, there was still more, something left out…

The ripped piece of Zim's uniform! That had to be it!

Desperately trying to disengage himself with his body, the young boy looked about until he caught sight of the aforementioned piece of cloth, and, with a terrible amount of resistance from his own body, managed to crawl towards it. Once in his hands, Dib desperately looked for something—_anything_—that would enlighten him as to what he knew was truly important, ignoring the red liquid in his hands as it seeped into the fabric on the cloth.

Sadly, with the piece of cloth came no peace of mind, but only more unanswered questions.

Growling ferociously irritated at his own incompetence, Dib allowed himself to sit, hoping to quiet the painful roar that rang loudly all over. Catching his breath, he went over his thoughts once more.

It was just a puzzle, and all he had to do was connect the dots.

He woke up, went to school, went to spy on Zim, got caught in a nasty explosion, dug himself out, and now held a bloody piece of Zim's uniform.

Awake, school, spying, explosion, dirt, bloody uniform.

Spying, explosion, Zim's bloody uniform.

Spying, Zim, explosion, Zim, bloody uniform—_ZIM!_

"That's it!" Dib cried hysterically into the night air. "Zim is _dead_!"

"That's nice!" Someone shouted in hopes that this would satisfy whoever was talking about people being dead.

And it _was _nice. It was nice because, while by default, he had _won_. _He_ was the victor in the unending struggle of good-versus-evil, _he_ was the savior of all of mankind, and _he _beat Zim!

Him! Dib! The winner!

A slow, content smile graced Dib's face softly. He wasn't someone who normally took pleasure in another's pain, especially when it came to death, but just this once he would allow himself some joy.

Dib breathed in, hard and heavy.

The air smelled like victory.

* * *

AN: You know, when I first started this story I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to make Tak cruel enough, but I'm proud to say I've made her into quite a bitch. It took me months to get myself to finish this, and _I'm super enthusiastic about doing more._

That is sarcasm.

Next chapter will be out whenever. Leave me alone.


End file.
